A Moment's Absolution
by Kittie Darkhart
Summary: The choice of one’s destiny cannot be changed, nor can it be altered from its present course in time. Only the years of regret and sorrow for what is lost can make us truly understand the joy of living. A final farewell to a love that could never be.


Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux and their respected owners.

Summary: The choice of one's destiny cannot be changed, nor can it be altered from its present course in time. Only the years of regret and sorrow for what is lost can make us truly understand the joy of living. A final farewell to a love that could never be.

A Moment's Absolution

_Evenes, Norway_

_January 1921_

'_Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!' — Horatio, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act V, Scene II_

…

The fatal fall of a soundless rain descended from the tearstained heavens, as the growing apathy of its descent merely prolonged the bitter taste of its damning fall from grace. All day, the passing storm refused to cease its relentless tirade of pain while the joining of the growing darkness of twilight, which held illimitable dominion hung over the cemetery. The absence of life juxtaposed the unpleasant feel of death—which not only possessed the acrimony of such a significant loss, but also the slight pull of regret that obtained the fettered attention of one stricken by a moment's guilt.

A remorseful tear fell from an azure eye, its broken sight remaining upon the cold monument of stone. The chilling edifice whose epitaph heralded the graceful demeanour and selfless actions only conveyed the singular truth of one so noble, as it stood against the elements of despair.

_And that_ he _was_, the visitant thought dejectedly. She frowned upon the obscure obsidian obelisk. Had it truly been years and not days that passed into this endless realm of existence? Had only a short span of forty years passed without thought, without recognition until this dire misfortune entered upon her life? Would the sins of her past ever abandon the guilt that consumed her now? She had no answer.

The cold truth of the gravestone lay before her, its icy testimony an indignant reminder of things that could not be undone. A beleaguered frown, wrought with both pain and sorrow, tainted her pale lips as she carefully weighed the result of her life's course in time, for she had made her choice concerning the fate of not only herself, but for all.

On that night so long ago, she had made the decision that would inevitably reshuffle fate and purge all lives into chaos. She did not consider the cost, or even the consequences derived by her fatal choice. But could she have chosen any other way? her mind questioned. Could she have accepted the alternative and live with the constant regret of it? In truth, there was no other choice, and sadly, no other way.

And thus she stared upon the monument in silence, questioning this man's brief life, for he had lived a lonely existence until the end, his sorrows lamented only by the cracked writing on the stone's flawless surface.

Her head inclined in unspoken disgrace, as the hollow inscription compelled her to gaze upon the shallow words. She felt only embittered shame as it reminded her of what could have been.

She could have been happy with this man. He had promised her the world, it seemed. Everything she could have desired would have been hers, if only by the loving smile she sometimes graced him with. But it was in that loving smile, however, though beautifully contrived, was nothing more than a fallacy brought on by the guilt and lies she had deceived him with.

Would she ever be free of this man and the promises he made to her so long ago? Her mind lamented over a truth she dare not utter, lest her grief conquer her last, remaining trace of dignity. For the idle hours within the light and shadows had fallen away, giving in to the childish inanity that became them. They had been nothing more than children then, innocently playing by the shore as the eye of a foreboding storm moved over them, threatening to tear them asunder.

And in a way, it had. Inside, she knew the truth; she would never be free, not when the lingering memories of what had transpired overcame every fragile piece of the hastily constructed reason her mind fabricated. The amnesty she so desperately yearned for could not be found, nor could it bargained for—not now. It was far too late to renege upon her word. And so she would have to live for the remainder of her life with this one fatal error.

Her vision blurred slightly, not only by the onslaught of penitent tears, but also by the wear of time. And as such, the years, though kind to her fragile beauty, had ultimately affected her nonetheless. The slight show of gray within her dark hair not only revealed her advance in age but illuminated it, making it more beautiful, illustrious by the contrast of ebony melded with silver.

She slightly smiled at this, remembering how many appreciated her delicate beauty. She could still make angels weep with it, but never again with her song. The desire to sing after that night had long since eluded her. She had no will, or even the strength to continue her once-perfected art. Even her husband could not fault her for that, not when the past was almost too painful for them to bear.

The thought of her husband prolonged her smile, strengthening it. The slight touch of his gloved hands upon her shoulders released the years of tension and dismay, causing them to fall slack in a form of utter supplication. Even after forty years could she still feel the fire that had been ignited when their souls first touched.

Could she have denied this man instead of the other and live with the lie of secretly loving him for eternity? She knew that she could not. It would be a sin against God and also herself if she had chosen differently.

And it was then she realized that her choice, though condemning, was still the correct one, for she had chosen life, not death with this man. The scorpion had been true to its word. And in this, she knew that perhaps she could finally be forgiven.

A gentle hand clasped her shoulder then, and she smiled. "Christine…" her husband's voice murmured, its hauntingly beautiful sound echoing within the hollows of her mind.

"Yes?" she whispered as she felt him pull her against him.

"Will you be all right?" he asked, his tentative hold on her marked with evident concern. "I understand that it must be…painful for you to accept this."

Christine nodded and turned to her husband. "He was a good man. I know that, within his heart, he would have wanted this. He would have wished for my happiness on this matter. He was utterly so selfless, giving me the chance to live…" _And he, the chance to die_, she thought regrettably.

Understanding reached her husband's eyes as the compassion within the golden depths emitted only pity and not the indignation he once felt for his rival. His nemesis had, after all, sacrificed his own happiness to accommodate those less deserving.

"He wished for your happiness, Christine," he replied, his insipid voice convincing her to heed his words. "I daresay any man who loved you so would have wanted only that. You cannot fault him for it, nor can you fault yourself for the choice made. We were all…foolish then."

"I know," Christine said as she turned away from him, bowing her head in abject shame. "But he had nothing after this. He lost _everything_ he ever loved or cared for after I denied him." Her knees buckled under the weight of her words as she fell, colliding against the frigid earth. Only the reckless sobbing and firm grasp on her shoulders attested to her growing sadness; her husband sharing in the unending grief that tormented his wife.

"Christine, end this sorrow," he gently whispered as he fell on bended knee, drawing her to him. His arms encircled her as the skeletal embrace of his fingers coerced her sobbing to cease. He felt her lean against him openly, willingly as the tears from many years of regret stained her ivory face. Even with the plight of her sorrowful cries his Christine was still beautiful. For no emperor deserved a finer gift as she.

And with this silent admission he moved forward, his gloved fingers twisting themselves within the loose strands of her undone hair. She looked so beautiful this way; a portrait of childlike innocence sheathed within a woman whose appeal was unprecedented by the standard notion of perfection.

There was no doubt that his adversary had also felt the same intrinsic pull of the siren's call. Had he, too, marveled at the rare Scandinavian beauty as she had graced the Parisian stage with her divine presence so many years ago? Perhaps by seeing her from his private box had only spurred his enchantment of her, compelling him to restrict himself to the kindness and attentions of the lovely _Mademoiselle_ Daaé.

Golden eyes stared beyond the sobbing Christine, to the headstone that stood before them. The dark obelisk whose imposing obsidian structure marked only the sole discretion of the deceased left merely a chiselled testimony of this poor soul's life. The man who was buried beneath the cold earth only left a remnant of the time he had lived as the rest fell away to the realm of forsaken memory.

For no more than half a century had this man who acquired the whole of world, which fell only to the decay of his own despair. His various talents and riches could no longer afford him the desire to prolong his unending torture. As with each passing day, this man had suffered the endless longings of something he could never obtain: Christine.

_It was a pity_, he thought, _that any man could suffer such a lonely existence._ However, it was this loneliness that he himself knew all too well. For he, too, had endured it—long ago, when the world scorned and ridiculed what it did not understand. It was only because of the naïve innocence of his wife that he was able to see the world for what it truly was. And for that, he was grateful—to both of them.

A dark chime of the town clock echoed within the distance, marking the hour of seven with its heavy tolls. A reserved sigh escaped him as he moved and gently commanded his wife to stand. He watched the fleeting show of remorse within her eyes as the quiet tears of her eternal sorrow fell. The time to say farewell had finally come.

Christine glanced at her husband, and then to the massive stone. It seemed that even now she was forced to choose. However, this time it would be forever. And yet, her time with choosing between Heaven and Hell was over. The young, foolish girl who once captivated all with her song had long since vanished, leaving only an aged replica to repair the broken shards of a shattered past.

And it was with this notion that she finally set aside a fragment of regret as she moved forward without reservation, and placed the gathering of white roses against the grave. Her head inclined a fraction as she murmured her final words to this man she once loved.

"Thank you for giving me this one chance of happiness," Christine murmured softly as she placed a reverent kiss upon the obsidian stone. "Farewell…" she whispered, smiling at her reflection within its dark surface.

She then turned to her husband and smiled. "I am ready," she said, taking him by the arm.

He nodded his head in assent, but hesitated to abandon the grave. His wife stared at him for a moment, her lovely face a beautiful mask of confusion. It was only when she noticed the single rose he pulled from his cloak that she understood. Her husband had finally forgiven the man before them, his past animosity nothing more than a faded memory.

The rose, whose deep colour was a marvellous shade of crimson was placed between the white roses, leaving only the evident truth that all sins had at last been exonerated. Christine closed her eyes, finally feeling the absolution she desired. It was time to leave the past behind them, and forget the years of sorrow and pain they had inflicted upon themselves, for _he _had forgiven them long ago.

"He once believed that he needed to save me. But in the end, it seemed that we saved each other," she faintly mused as she stared at the grave. Her eyes moved across the words on the stone once more, before turning to her husband. "He gave me a lifetime to be happy. I did not realize that until now…"

"He knew of your choice that night, Christine. He realized that he could not make you happy in his world, and that only _I_ could give what you truly wanted," her husband answered.

Christine gently sighed. "You…" she whispered faintly, and her hands moved to the security of his arms. "But come," she gently urged, her warm fingers encircling the dark velvet of his cloak. "It is time we leave. He would not wish for us to grieve over our sorrows any longer, Erik."

Her husband reluctantly nodded at this as his golden eyes remained upon the grave's dark epitaph, the yellow irises falling upon the words marked:

_Raoul de Chagny_

_1860 – 1921_

_No longer does he hide in shadow; he has embraced the light at last._

"Yes," Erik replied distantly, turning away from the monument of the young man who had once foolishly pursued him in his dark labyrinthine world. The de Chagny did not even wish to be immortalised by the title of his nobility, as his final wish was to be remembered as a man and nothing more. The irony in which he chose was almost poignant in the decision made to lie next to Christine's surrogate mother. The noble comte—for he truly was—would be remembered as a common man and not a fanciful figure of history.

And thus, the line of the great de Chagnys had ended. A legacy borne of both strength and blood ceased to exist with the last, fatal breath of its final custodian of that marvellous, ancient lineage, Raoul de Chagny.

And it was with this bitter stab of awareness that Erik truly pitied the boy. Perhaps the peace the young man had once sought on the lands that lay to the North would be obtained, if only by the mercy of the cold ground that now encased him.

Either way, Erik quietly reflected, both of them had found only a harsh sense of finality to a decision made long ago. The night Christine returned to him, in accordance to her promise, marked the truth of her words. She had kept her word to him, though she had liberated both with her choice. And strangely, he no longer felt the need to hate the young nobleman.

The years of indignant anger had finally wasted away as the gentle pull of his beloved Christine led him from the dismal site. He smiled underneath the mask, murmuring, "You are right, Christine. It is time we returned home…"

And with this, both turned away, leaving this last trace of the truth behind, the white roses that lay idly against the dark obsidian stone tied with the worn remnants of a child's red scarf…

…

**Author's Note: I realise that I have a terrible tendency to write sad things. Honestly, I am not one who prefers tragedy, but I will inevitably end up writing something that leans toward such. Well…at least in my oneshots, not the huge multi-chapter things that I write. Honest! But nevertheless, I fear it cannot be helped, seeing as I do not write 'happy endings' per se, but more of a satisfying conclusion. And so, also with this one—which I am sure I had a few guessing who Christine was married to close to the end—ended up with a somewhat appeasing close. I thought the forgiveness that both Erik and Christine found in the end was enough to lessen the blow of Raoul's passing. The poor guy goes through so much adversity in my writing, as do all of the characters.**

**Anyway, I should confess that this **_**is**_** the conclusion to my oneshot **_**Idle Recollections on a Red Death.**_** I actually wrote this before writing its predecessor. As it seems that I never write anything in order. ;)**

**But anyway, I hope everyone liked it. In the future, I will **_**try**_** to write something without too much angst. But then again, perhaps it would not be as compelling or moving if it were all to end perfectly for everyone… **

**Update: November 3, 2009: Like **_**Idle Recollections on a Red Death**_**, I have added new content/fixed any errors concerning this oneshot. The quote at the beginning, like **_**Idle Recollections'**_**, attempts to convey the overall meaning of **_**A Moment's Absolution**_**. I recall it from having to read Shakespeare's **_**Hamlet**_** in high school, and found the quote perfect, as it seemed to, if in a way, match Raoul's plight perfectly. Again, I tried to change little to the original draft of this, which I had posted in late 2006, as I only attempted to enhance the emotion originally portrayed in this story. I do hope what little revision I have done has accomplished this.**


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